I have always considered myself a little strange when it comes to running. This is because I really love running. I know a lot of committed runners who do it for one reason or another, but they do not enjoy themselves while they run. I do.

The last 5 months of running have been hard. 6 days a week 50-60 miles a week. I have run through scorching heat, with a broken hand, in the cold rain, through dense fog. I ticked off miles over bridges, around parks, down busy avenues and cobbled side streets. I have dodged children, jumped over dog shit and seen a bum masturbate. I laced up when I was so hungover I did not think I could walk straight, so tired I contemplated sleep running and so sick each step seemed to bring a little closer to some end.

Through it all I started to tire of running. Not only was my body breaking down but I stopped wanting to run. I dreaded it every night and my runs started suffering. Yesterday I took some time before my run to think about why I love it. I has changed by body, brought me closer to people I love and taken places I never knew existed. I tried to remember that I have stumbled upon some talent I never thought I had. I tried to remember to smile.

So I took a sparsely populated F train to Central Park and left my Nike+ at home and I went for a run, smiling and enjoying myself the whole time.  All of the nagging pains I felt over the last few weeks were gone.

Marathon T-Minus 3 Days